Remnants of a Life
by BlueSphinx
Summary: The worst thing for a mother is having to bury a child.


**Disclaimer:** Harry Potter is the property of J.K. Rowling, and I don't own anything.**  
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**Remnants of a Life**

It was nine o'clock in the morning.

"Breakfast!" she called, her strong clear voice unwavering. It reverberated through the whole house, reaching its every corner.

She waited for the feet to come storming down the stairs, making the house shake from roof to foundation, so that only magic still managed to keep the building intact. She waited for the sea of red with familiar specks of black and brown and blonde to break through the kitchen door and start demolishing the piles of food she made for them every morning. She had excused Fleur from all household jobs; it didn't suit her demeanour to cook and dust, though she was such a nice girl otherwise. And now she waited for all of them to come.

She waited for a while, and then…

"Good morning, mum," Ginny said, sliding noiselessly into the kitchen. "Are there any of those sausages left?" Her eyes moved over the steaming breakfast table, laid for twelve, not seeing anything.

"There should be some left there," Molly indicated to the table. "Take as many as you can find."

Ginny took two. They were the only ones left.

-----

It was half past nine in the morning.

Molly was cleaning up after the breakfast. She threw all the remains together into one bucket and mixed it. Her chickens would have a feast again.

Ginny had said she'd go down to the village for the day. There was some young Muggle man there who liked to listen to her stories, and wondered at her creativity. Molly hoped they would marry some day and he would help Ginny forget all the past.

Right now she was washing up and planning her day. First she would have to do the laundry — school robes needed to be washed, and the children's Quidditch robes. And socks — there never were too many socks, she thought with a half-smile. And then some knitting; she thought that pale yellow should look pretty good on Hermione. At least better than this old Ron's maroon she had worn the last time Molly saw her, immobile between Harry and Ron, before water barred her view.

The plate she was washing escaped from between her fingers and shattered on the floor. It was Bill's dark green. She carefully picked up all the pieces and lined them on the table, then stabbed them with her wand, doubt written all over her features. Nothing happened.

Molly sighed and turned back to the sink. She would use glue later.

-----

It was half past two in the afternoon.

"Lunch!" Molly's strong voice called, and she listened as the echo answered her. Ginny had said she would eat out with that nice young man from the village who didn't know what colour her hair had been before it had turned grey.

She had made roast chicken with spicy rice and baked tomatoes. It was Charlie's favourite.

She sat down at the table and offered the rice to her left and right-hand neighbours, then took a couple of spoonfuls for herself. She imagined she heard the scraping of the chairs around her as her family got seated at the table. She imagined she heard knives and forks clicking against the colour-coded plates. She imagined she heard talk of Quidditch and weather and politics around her.

Molly let her thoughts roam free. She was thinking of making treacle tart for the evening — Harry would like that, and this poor boy was just too skinny and too short for his age. After that, for a moment she thought she'd ask the kids to de-gnome the garden, but then decided that there wasn't much of the summer left any more, and she'd better just let them go out and have fun. Molly smiled.

-----

It was five minutes to seven in the evening.

Molly was sitting in an armchair in the living-room, looking at the crackling flames in the fireplace, a steaming cup of tea in her hands. She was listening to the Wizarding Wireless. Soon Penelope's daily broadcast would start, and Molly knew that Percy was interested in that girl. She definitely approved of this match — the woman might have had a weird taste in music, but Molly had once seen a picture of her, and she looked healthy and strong, capable of having lots of beautiful intelligent children.

Ginny had not yet come back, but she should have been coming any moment. Molly was listening intently, waiting for the bang of the front door closing. But she didn't hear it; she hadn't yet got used to the silent Ginny.

"Hey, mum," Ginny said in a low and even voice, appearing as if out of nowhere in the armchair across from Molly's. "What's for supper?"

"I thought we'd just have some treacle tart today," Molly said.

"Harry's favourite," Ginny remarked with a half-smile, sending a closed and painful look at her mother, pity in her eyes.

"Yes, he'll love it," Molly said, smiling back at her happily.

-----

It was almost eleven o'clock at night.

Molly made her way up the stairs silently. She stopped behind the door to the twins' room to make sure the silencing spell she had cast on their door some time ago still held. The test was easy — if she couldn't hear anything, then it held because it was completely impossible, in her experience, for Fred and George to be totally quiet for a whole second. It obviously held.

Molly moved on. Behind Ginny's door she halted again for a moment. She heard subdued sobbing from there. Young love, she was certain, and a reminiscing smile flickered over her worn features, wondering for a moment whether she should go in and try to console her little girl, but then decided she was too old to meddle with things like that. She knew the lovers needed the bad times to treasure the good ones. Harry and Ginny would work out their problems in due time. And besides, Hermione was always there to look after her. So Molly moved on.

She climbed into her bed, and snuggled close to her husband who wasn't there waiting for her, and felt the arms that weren't there encircle her. She felt nonexistent breath tickle her neck, and her hand went out in search of Arthur's arm.

"How was your day?" she asked. "Hard? Usual?

"Mine was wonderful," she said.

And she fell asleep with a smile on her face.


End file.
